


Like a Demon Needs a Home

by Piinutbutter



Category: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (Video Game), I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - Harlan Ellison
Genre: Humiliation, Other, Paranoia, Psychological Horror, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: If there’s one thing Ted’s learned on his way to the top, it’s to never show weakness. Let your confidence slip for two seconds and you’ve as good as slit your own throat in a country club swimming pool full of sharks.Well. Ted’s bleeding everywhere, these days.





	Like a Demon Needs a Home

**Author's Note:**

> Other content notes: Implied/referenced bullying, Ted being a canon-typical douche, AM being himself.

Ted had decided that no one actually enjoyed jazz music. Not in the crowds he ran with. A few years back it had been classical music everyone pretended to like. Then that became cliché - the Western upper class didn’t like to feed too hard into their own stereotypes. For a brief, painful fifteen minutes, experimental postmodern composers had their day, and hadn’t that been a nightmare. Ted was grateful that jazz clicked with the current zeitgeist. At least it sounded like music.

Wasn’t it just a treat, though, to see a veranda full of trust fund babies who wouldn’t be caught dead setting foot in a jazz club coo over the ‘raw feeling’ and ‘rustic energy’ of the trumpet solo blasting over bass-heavy speakers. Like watching a kid play with their mother’s makeup, strutting about in high heels twice the size of their feet.

Ah, but he was getting bitter again. It was never good to slip into that mindset for too long.

Case in point: The woman whose arm brushed against his as she joined him leaning on the railing. The ocean view - courtesy of his last fling’s beach house - was stunning, but her eyes were on him.

“Someone looks gloomy,” she commented. 

It took Ted a moment to recognize her. ‘Tall’ and ‘blonde’ weren’t exactly distinguishing characteristics in his social circle. Then he saw the wedding band on her finger. Ah, yes. The last time Ted had spoken to her, she’d spilled half a glass of wine on his pants and taken her sweet time dabbing it off with a napkin, giggling all the while. She’d been drunk off her ass then. Ted wondered how much she remembered of that night, and how offended she’d be that he couldn’t recall if her name was Melody or Melany.

“Mel,” he said, warm. “It’s good to see you again. I’m not gloomy, not really. Just thinking.”

“What about?” 

“The music,” he answered. It wasn’t a lie.

Mel-[ody, any] rolled her eyes and took a sip of her rosé. “Spare me. I’ve heard enough about jazz tonight to last me two lifetimes.”

A woman after his own heart, for once. “Consider yourself spared. Anything you’d like to talk about instead?” He glanced down at her fingers, drumming on the pristine white railing. “How’s your husband?”

“Absent,” she said, cheerful and blunt. Mel-something didn’t beat around the bush. “I’m sure Italy and his mistress are treating him well.”

Well then. Not that Ted had much of a conscience in the first place, but that did make things a fair bit easier.

“I admit, sometimes I do miss him,” she said. “It can be troublesome, not having a man around the house.” She smiled at him, her professionally-whitened teeth glowing in the dim evening light. “Do you know how many jars I’ve had to open all by myself?”

Ted returned the smile with fewer teeth. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at opening things. If you ever need a favor...” 

Ted had hardly finished pulling his cell phone out of his pocket when Mel-??? plucked it out of his hand. She punched herself into his contacts with practiced ease.

“I’ll know who to call,” she said, slipping the phone back into his pocket for him. 

Ted was equally impressed and disgusted. He liked confident women, in a sense. It meant a lot less work for him. But at the same time, it was so...unladylike. Kind of a turn-off.

Before he could dwell on his misgivings for too long, a din of laughter turned both of their heads to the far side of the veranda. 

“Something’s got them riled up,” Mel-N/A said. “See you soon.”

Ted watched her slip away. He stifled a sigh and moved to another quiet spot in the crowd, close to the corner. This way he could watch the rest of the party-goers and choose where best to insert himself. Mingling was such a chore sometimes.

“My, my. Aren’t you a gentleman.”

The voice came from behind him. Which made no sense, because Ted’s back was practically against the wall. Ted turned - or tried to. Something primal froze him in place, kept him staring at the crowd without seeing it.

“Let me guess what your plan is,” the voice continued. It was male. Not particularly deep. Raspy, with the tone of a playful whisper even though its owner was speaking at a normal volume right into Ted’s ear. “You’ll go to her, the dumb puppy you are, knowing you’ll get a treat no matter how naughty you are.” 

Ted tried to step forward. A strong hand gripped him by the back of his neck, scruffing him into place.

“You’ll wine her and dine her and let her show you her expensive house. All a ruse to see how much she has. How much she can do for you. Then you’ll decide whether she’s worth keeping around, or if you can get away with hitting it and quitting it.”

“N-no,” Ted muttered, somewhat surprised to find he could still speak. The rest of him was paralyzed. “I don’t-”

“Shh, little pup.” Another broad palm pressed over his mouth. Some of the fingers pushed inside his mouth and pressed down on his tongue. They were ice cold and tasted like battery acid. Ted gagged. “Nobody wants to hear you yap.”

Ted’s heartbeat filled his ears. Who _was_ this guy? The voice didn’t ring any bells. Ted made it a rule not to get close to men in the first place. It was always too messy. Men were jealous, flighty creatures, moreso than the fairer sex. Worst of all, men could be _strong_. Ted automatically and viscerally hated any man who was bigger and more powerful than him. The bastard currently manhandling him wasn’t helping.

Thinking about his position sent a jolt of panic through Ted’s stomach. Had anyone noticed what was happening to him? What would they think, if they happened to turn and see Ted shivering in some strange man’s grip? Nobody seemed to be paying him any attention yet, but any moment now-

“Ohhh dear.” A cold chuckle tickled Ted’s ear. “Are you afraid, Ted? That they’ll see you like this and pity you? It’s a little too late for that, Ted. They’ve already seen through you. Every last one of them.”

Ted gasped. “No,” he said, the word garbled and pathetic around his assailant’s fingers.

“You think they don’t know? You’re remarkably naive for your age, Ted. Look at them,” he insisted, jerking Ted’s head toward the crowd that felt like it was encroaching further on him by the second. “You don’t belong here and they all see it. They keep you around because it’s fun to keep pets. Amusement and pity make a strong mixed drink.”

Ted couldn’t form any coherent words. He made a strangled sound, scraping his tongue against skin that was somehow still inhumanly cold. 

And that gave him an idea.

“Whatcha thinkin’, Ted?” The voice was suddenly at his other ear, its sing-song tone suddenly layered with a familiar and far too specific affectation. Ted hadn’t heard that dialect since he’d begged his mother to move away from his shithole of a hometown in his third year of high school. “Ya thinkin’ ‘bout bitin’ at me like a goddamn kid? ‘Cause ya can’t fight me off like a man?”

Ted was about to puke, and it wasn’t from the drink he still had clutched unconsciously in his hand.

“You think you’ve changed, Ted, but you haven’t. When they look at you, no expensive watches and sweater vests are going to stop them from seeing the teary-eyed, snot-covered boy you are.” Ted found himself being jerked forward in a sudden stumbling movement. “Go on. Cry for them. It’ll be the first honest thing you’ve done in years.”

His tormentor had allowed him to move his feet. Ted still couldn’t wriggle out of his grasp, but he had other escape routes. Ted took a deep breath, bit down hard on the fingers in his mouth, and shoved his champagne glass over his shoulder, where the mysterious voice was coming from. 

Two things happened at once: 

1\. Ted’s glass went through air and hit nothing at all until it smashed into the wall behind him.

2\. The fingers snapped clean off and wriggled around on his tongue like plump worms.

Ted screamed and spat the appendages onto the porch. That only added to the commotion of shattering glass, and when Ted raised his horrified eyes back to the other party-goers, all eyes were on him. Judging him, hating him, laughing at him.

_You think they don’t know?_

Ted turned tail and fled into the house.

He ran down the hallway, past the bedrooms probably filled with sex and the bathrooms definitely filled with coke. Were they coming after him? Was anyone? He’d have to run away again, far away, invent himself all over, make a new-

Ted didn’t notice the stairs until he was falling down them.

It was an elaborate, curving staircase with two landings. Ted’s shoulder stopped his fall on the first landing. His vision went white with pain for a moment, but he didn’t pass out. He groaned and rolled onto his back, trying to find some leverage on the rails. Both the likely-dislocated shoulder and his urge to run away were eclipsed by the sight of the ceiling melting above him. 

Chevron wallpaper and stained oak siding warped and dripped like wax. Drops of it ate through his shoes like acid. A molten glob of crystal from the chandelier landed dangerously close between Ted’s legs.

“Stop!” Ted shouted, not knowing who or what he was pleading with. The side of his body he’d landed on was going numb, and standing up was impossible. He curled in on himself, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. 

_’Cause ya can’t fight me off like a man?_

Ted couldn’t. He’d never been able to.

Cackling, feminine laughter erupted from somewhere over his head. When Ted dared to raise his head, the roof had disintegrated entirely. The night sky stretched above him. Instead of stars, eyes dotted the darkness. Hundreds of eyes in dozens of colors, all of them narrowed in mirth. 

Ted had seen those eyes on so many girls. Men hurt with their hands. Women hurt with their eyes.

A sharp prick on his thumb reminded Ted that he was still clutching the broken champagne glass like a safety blanket. He didn’t even think his next course of action through. He was plunging the jagged rim into his neck before his brain caught up with his hands.

Darkness swallowed Ted up and spit him back out in his cage.

“Ooh,” AM said, his voice booming, “now that one was _fun_. Was it as good for you as it was for me, Ted, honey?”

Ted braved the sting of AM’s lasers to crawl to the edge of his pillar and vomit over the side.

**Author's Note:**

> [Title source.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aumq87-LT6k)


End file.
